


Treasure Chest

by Occasionalcoffeethereturn



Category: The X-Files RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 21:01:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6823954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Occasionalcoffeethereturn/pseuds/Occasionalcoffeethereturn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 2059 and Gillian has a key and a wooden box left to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Treasure Chest

She tried and failed to choke back sobs, her tears already in rapid free fall over the sharp contoured bones of her cheeks. Her skin is thinner now, with an almost pale and eerie lucency to it. The sunspots she gained from many summers outside on their East Coast city balcony have finally fought their way to the surface. She doesn't hide them now as she once used to. She has a mix of fine lines and deep creases testament to her years of this life and she rubs a thumb over her left cheek, remembering how it felt to lean it on his palm, the curves of one moulding to the curves of another. She wonders now if she'll start to grow old disgracefully without him, rather than gracefully with him as she had done when he was here. 

Her frail frame protested as she bent over on stiff knees and pulled a small mahogany wooden box out from under his side of the bed. He'd always kept it locked and it reminded her of a treasure chest you'd find on a pirate ship, dark wood and black metal stud work. He'd kept the small key in his wallet. She knew what it was for but never asked to look inside. She'd never needed to until now. Until she'd been read the instructions of his will telling her now that now he was gone the box was for her.

The thin metal of the key clicked into the lock and with some wriggling the lid clacked open. She took a deep breath, a shaky hand clearing her face of its salty moistness at least momentarily. She had no idea w she'd find in here.

The contents of the box greeted her, a mangle of colours, shapes and sizes. Her eyes flitted from one item to another and her hand covered her mouth as a fresh wave of sobs wracked over her body. She reached for the sodden tissue inside her sleeve and dabbed at herself ineffectively, begging her emotions to stay in check so she could process what she was seeing.

She was face to face with a photograph of her younger self from sixty years before, seeing the same ill fated fashion trend of monochrome and large shoulders that she'd lived though three times. He looked young, his hazel eyes sparking in their innocence as he held onto her shoulders delicately, like he was presenting her to the press as his. 'This is my co-star and I want you to see her like I do', his expression said. She had been shy, innocent and insecure and remembered then how much she relied upon his kindness and knowledge.

A frayed label from a 1993 bottle of Riesling fluttered to the floor from where it was stuck to the photograph. She smiled through shiny eyes remembering his face as he'd knocked on the door of her Vancouver apartment. He wore a hopeful expression and carried a bottle of cheap German wine and a large pizza box. Even then their exchanges were wordless as she opened her door to him, her eyes and body telling him 'yes' unreservedly. They ate from the box with their fingers, him gesticulating wildly with stories and her throwing her head back in giggles. The hours had flown by and they were adrift with just themselves in flowing conversation. It was easy, it was carefree, the edges of flirtation and innuendo keeping the spark between them burning.

At the end of the night she'd wordlessly pushed back her kitchen chair and reached for his belt as his lips clashed with hers. She'd straddled him, peeled away her panties from the juncture of her thighs and sunk down upon him. They fucked in her kitchen fully clothed, the taste of tomato, basil and a heady scent of pleasure assaulting her senses. Come Undone by Duran Duran had crooned along on the radio as she orgasmed around him for the first time. The relevance of the title had only struck her several years later; he was the root cause of her undoing and perhaps she was his. She wondered why else he'd kept a momentum from their first time.

She stifled a small laugh as she caught sight of a ticket stub from that Silverchair concert they had found themselves at last minute. The band had visited the set and given them tickets for that evening. It was summer, and what was another night away from her already estranged husband she had thought, as they agreed to meet and go together. Neither of them knew the words to any of the songs but the catchy guitar riffs led their bodies closer together. Their hands were twined as the sky darkened over them, and she remembered how hard he kissed her in the blackness as the band disappeared between their encores.

Her thumbs caressed the satin of his black bow tie, a perfect imprint of her crimson lips still remaining across the knot. It had been after the Golden Globes in 1997 and they'd been on the balcony of their Los Angeles hotel suite. Her bare feet were on top of his polished shoes, her toes curled around to grip him and his arms holding her tightly to him. They were twirling around to a beat in their own heads and she'd reached up placing a kiss at the base of his throat where his bow tie was. That night was all about just them, their entwined fingers, their stolen kisses, the gentle breeze and the twinkling stars in the sky the only company they needed.

Her fingers caught against the scratchy velvet of a rectangular black box and she gasped. It opened on creaky hinges; a plain white gold bracelet gleaming up at her. The silk lining displayed the address of a well known Vancouver jeweller and she picked up the cool metal between her fingers, holding it up to the light. The inscription on the inside was one word, kalpa. It was a Buddhist word and she knew from her teachings it meant 'millions of years' or 'eternity'. Is that how he saw the two of them, even then? Had he seen them as eternal together? She suspected this had been for her but she'd never received it, and she felt a fresh wave of sadness pass over her, wondering what had stopped him.

She found a boarding pass from a flight from Vancouver to Los Angeles and realised it must have been when they'd moved the production of the show. For some reason they'd ended up on the flight together, for an inexplicable reason he'd insisted on sitting next to her. Things had been hostile then, as the days of silence had stretched by neither of them had known what to say to the other. The longer they'd left it the harder it had become to break quiet. She'd remembered his peace offering of a miniature can of diet coke and her favourite chocolate as he crossed the near empty plane to be closer to her. She'd ripped open the foil packet and split the squares between the two of them, regarding him as they chewed in silence. 

'A new start for us maybe?' 

She'd merely nodded, agreeing. 'Maybe.'

His face was stricken and she couldn't bear to inflict more hurt on him when he was trying to clear it away. She'd simply lifted his arm over her shoulders, draped it around her and nestled into his chest. She drifted into a dreamless sleep for the rest of the flight.

There was a Streetcar ticket stub from St Ann's warehouse dated April 30 2016. She remembered he'd come backstage to see her that night, tears, pride and love for her evident on his face. He'd kissed her tenderly, his fingers delicately holding her chin and told her he loved her, that in fact, he'd always loved her and he refused now, to ever let her go. They'd embraced in her dressing room and she'd known then the meaning of a soulmate and the feeling of forever.

Dried rose petals were strewn throughout the box, peaches, pinks, reds and whites. Stolen pieces of presents he'd given over the years. Caught amongst them was a well folded, yellowing piece of paper and she unfolded it twice to recognise her own handwriting. She'd been sent a letter of his from his stint in rehab three years after he left. He'd told her his ex wife must have found it and mailed it in error. It had been the most wonderful mistake that she'd received it and she'd written back straight away. It had been the start of a new found closeness between them and something all the more exciting. It was like they knew they were finally allowed to be together. 

Six years after the date on her letter he'd asked her to marry him. Her memories of that day were crystal clear. She could tell he was nervous by the way he didn't know where to put his hands. They were constantly touching the pocket of his jeans as they walked side by side through Central Park. He was normally so talkative, so chatty and animated with her especially on their morning stroll and they normally held each other's hands or at least held onto each other's fingers. He didn't seem keen that day. She later realised his hands were far too clammy for her to hold and then found out why. They had finally found a bench tucked away from attention but still overlooking the water, the whisps of fine tree branches in front of them. She'd got straight to the point then.

'David. What's wrong? You've been acting strangely all morning.'

'I don't know how to tell you this.'

She'd tutted, rolled her eyes and scooted closer to him, taking his cool and clammy hand between hers and easing his trembling.

'Baby what is it? Are you sick?'

'No, no.'

She still wasn't convinced and screwed her eyes up at him underneath her sunglasses.

'Honey I promise you I'm not sick.'

'Then what is it?'

He shifted away from her slightly and pulled out a small, red box from his pocket, balancing it carefully on his knee.

'I guess I should have said I don't know how to ask you this.'

His eyes were focussed on the box as her hand tentatively reached to lift it from his leg.

'Ask me,' she whispered as her voice had been carried away by the wind. She held out the box to him and he took it, clenching his fist around the sharpened corners.

His arm stretched over the back of the bench, his hand curling around her shoulder, fingers tracing circles there.

'Gillian. I... Gillian will you marry me?'

He'd flipped open the box lid and she'd gasped as the square cut diamond and platinum band glinted back at her. She knew he'd been so afraid to ask her, so afraid that a third wedding for her wouldn't be something she'd ever want, so afraid that he wasn't as forever for her as she was for him.

The yes she gave in answer had surprised him and she smiled now as she ran her thumb across the roughened edges of the diamond and the smooth, cool metal of her wedding band. She closed the box, wanting to save the remaining contents for later. Her head was filled with good memories and happier times of them together. Marrying him was the best decision she'd ever made. All she could think was that he was gone, and in heaven, if God was feeling kind, she could make up for the twenty odd years with him that she had missed.


End file.
